For ten miles I waded through a quagmire, and my horse was mired to the girths. Rain was still falling when I entered Kang-sye, a foul village reeking with ages of filth. Our meal of rice that evening was supplemented by two small birds, shot by an intelligent sergeant, who also presented to me a manuscript copy of the Korean laws, and two volumes of the history of Korea. Next morning the native Governor arrived to pay his respects to the colonel in command of the depot. He was an old man with the white beard of which Koreans are proud. His top-knot was concealed under a black net of horsehair, over which was a white hat, shaped like an upturned flower pot on a round table. This strange head-gear is made of bamboo, split to a fineness of a silk thread, and is the most distinctive feature in a Korean scene. Under his loose white robe the Governor wore a sleeveless waistcoat of purple. His dignity, and not his feebleness, required the support of two retainers, who held the magistrate under his arms as he stepped into the colonel’s room and squatted on the matted floor. He had complaint to make of rice stolen, women frightened, and shrines desecrated by the stalling of horses. The colonel explained that offences of this kind were severely punished, but that misunderstandings must arise owing to the difference in language. He urged the Governor to encourage the people to return to their homes as seed time was drawing near, and impressed on him the urgency of repairing the roads. From Kang-sye to Pyng-yang the journey was easy. The rain had ceased, and the road was comparatively hard. Between the coast and the city is an unbroken succession of mountains and valleys. The slopes of the hills are cultivated, and the flats are paddy fields. The soil is fertile, but the cultivation is primitive, and the people are indolent. Rice, which is the staple food, is grown everywhere in great quantities, and on every hand are fields of maize, barley and millet. The Koreans are meat eaters, and breed immense herds of cattle, most of which had been driven into the mountains in order to keep the soldiers out of temptation. The ox is the common beast of burden, and near Ping-yang I saw long lines of them laden with packs. They are fine animals, much larger than the Japanese oxen, and are hardy and tractable. We approached the city across a broad plain, which stretches South-east to a distance of thirty miles. On the North and West are wooded heights that reach within two or three miles of the walls. Round the city proper is a wall of irregular shape, from six to seven miles in circumference. The Eastern wall is thirty feet high, surmounted by a crenelated parapet, and rises sheer from the bank of the river Tai-tong, which is two hundred yards broad and twenty feet deep at this point. On the South is the old city, surrounded by an earth wall, from ten to fifteen feet high, broken down in many places, and embracing an area of three miles by two.